Mine
by SurelyForth
Summary: Hawke had moved on with her mage years ago. Still, Fenris can't let her go until he understands one very important thing. F!Hawke/Anders, F!Hawke/Fenris. Rated M for sexual content and language.


Holy crap. So I decided to fill a request on the kmeme that seemed interesting. This is, for all intents and purposes, completely AU and more than a little out of character. I think.

**Also, very graphic and NSFW.** There's (badly written) sex happening, along with other kinky stuff (mostly dominance play and some light bondage). Oh, and language.

The request is at the bottom, for funsies. Characters belong to BioWare and the idea belongs to Requstor!Anon, who deserves praise for coming up with something that really grabbed me.

* * *

><p><strong>Fenris<strong>

He'd hated himself for letting it happen in the first place...

_she presses him against the wall, her palms flat on either side of his head, her fingernails scraping against the stone in a small show of restraint, and it's just her warm body writhing against his and her mead sweetened lips teasing his own_

...but he couldn't change the past. And, if he could, having regrettable sex with an attractive woman would _not_ be the first mistake he rectified. Or even within the top ten.

Besides, it had been good. He can admit _that_ much to himself.

No. It had been _amazing_.

That's when things started to get a bit...unpleasant for him. Especially when _it had been amazing_ met up with _where did all the wine go?_ and the distance from his front door to hers was not so very far.

And then it was only twenty steps to get through the darkened foyer, and two-hundred or so more to make it past the sitting room, up the stairs and into the small servant's corridor that ran between her washroom and the room that had once belonged to her mother.

Once settled by a gap in the paneling that afforded him an unobstructed view of her wash basin and bath, he never knew whether he should _pay_ Isabela for this secret knowledge or place the entirety of his woe on her slender, but already overburdened, shoulders.

_Or maybe I should just go to _her_ like this. _Tonight his erection is already testing the bounds of his pants, and Hawke is hasn't even moved past examining herself in the mirror, popped up on her bare toes, looking for wrinkles or gray hairs or food in her teeth. Had he not left her, he could be in the tub, relaxed to the point of bonelessness and waiting for her to join him. Had he not left, he could be behind her, arms around her narrow waist as he nuzzles the soft spot behind her ear and murmurs all the ways she is so much more beautiful than her reflection, and will always _be_ so much more beautiful than anything else he will _ever_ see.

Had he not left, he could confess to her that which he'd pushed away with surly grunts and "Hawke" when she wanted to talk about anything, but especially in her light-hearted attempts to get to the bottom of why he'd left her so suddenly and refused to give her any explanation besides "..._Hawke_."

"_Hawke_," it's a bare exhalation that tingles his lips and it's in response to her satin robe finally slipping down to reveal strong shoulders, an exquisitely muscled back and the subtle hint of one firm and shapely breast.

His hand finds his crotch in the dark, and he refuses to fully give in to _anything_ yet. Still, he has to at least acknowledge it as the robe falls completely away to expose her bottom, high and round and hardly obscured by a thin scrap of fabric pretending to be panties, and the long, lean thighs that had held him in his place beneath her on that night almost three years ago.

_they tense around his waist as she receives his forceful thrusts and that's his sign to let her take over, her fingertips tracing the lines on his chest, her touch gentle but at any moment she could have him pinned to the bed again and he'll take it because she has him trapped in a thousand small ways and one rather significant one_

In the washroom, she dips her hand in the water and then skims her fingers along the surface the same way she'd explored his skin in a moment of calm. _That_ night it had awoken in him renewed desire, now it sends ripples away from where she touches and he imagines how it would feel to be there, just below where she lingers, close enough to begin to plant kisses along the inside of her arm, to feel her warming against his mouth as he drew closer to her lightly freckled shoulder.

His teeth dig into his lips as he feels the familiar tug of longing near his groin and she hasn't even _done_ anything yet.

_You need to pace yourself, Fenris. Otherwise you're not just a sad pervert, you're a sad pervert who can't even last in the _presence_ of a woman._

She pushes a lock of hair out of her eyes, indolent and even slightly annoyed at that one strand that can't help itself from falling down across her nose, and then...she smiles.

Dazzling, sweet..._happy_.

His cheeks flush with warmth. His pulse races. His markings flare, barely perceptible to the eye but he _knows_ as the aching between his thighs hums with its own life. _Does she know I'm here? Does she..._

He has no concerns that she would hurt him if ever found out what he was doing, what he'd been doing for almost a year now. There were several nights he'd almost shouted his release, if only because it would get _this_ out in the open and shame him into stopping. She would hear him and then find her way into the narrow hallway to join him, probably bearing a bottle of wine and two bowls of Orana's roasted potato and garlic soup that they both loved. They'd either not speak or...

_"Hawke."_

_"I should think about putting a couch in here...maybe a stuffed chair with an ottoman? Make it homier."_

_"It won't happen again."_

_"I wasn't thinking about you...I bet there are loads of men and women in Kirkwall who'd pay handsomely to see the Champion wash behind her knees."_

_"Hmph. No doubt you're right. I'm not saying that to feed your vanity, I just know that people are willing to waste their money on foolish things."_

And then it would be over. He could go back to...whatever he'd been doing in the three years between meeting her and that night, and stop antagonizing himself with this game of wanting and watching and praying to any higher being that the smile that he's caught in now is for him and not...

_No._

The other man's cheeks are flushed, his blond hair disheveled, and his expression is the brightest that Fenris has ever seen.

_Curse him._

The mage.

* * *

><p><strong>Anders<strong>

The elf.

He knows it's him, can feel the way Justice flares and shifts inside him even as he greets his adored with a long and heartfelt kiss. He _should_ be handing himself over to the lust that burns within him at the sight of her naked and overjoyed to have him home so early. Instead, he is overwhelmed with hatred.

At first he wants to rip the damn panel away and pull the bastard out by his throat.

_That's_ all Anders.

_Justice_ has another idea.

Possession. _She is ours._

Anders smiles. This...is _true_.

"Hawke," he touches her cheek, allowing his knuckle to drag across her smooth lips. "I had an interesting conversation with Isabela this morning. About something we did last week."

Her eyes are blank, and then she smiles a wicked, knowing smile.

"You mean when we played Wordsmith with Merrill and you accused her of cheating?" Her eyes are wide with feigned innocence.

"Yesssss." _She _did_ cheat_. "Either that or the..., " he grabs her wrist and plants her hand firmly on his ass.

"Oh. That," she gives a contemplative squeeze. "Wait. You're not mad about _that_, are you?"

He nudges her nose with his own and then steals a noisy little kiss.

_Let him see affection._

"No. That doesn't mean I'm going to let it _slide_," he reaches behind her to where her robe is hanging and slips the sash away. "I think you deserve to be punished."

"Punished?" One dark eyebrow goes up in bemusement.

"Punished," he repeats, allowing the smallest hint of a growl as he presses forward. More than closing the space between them he has her against the wall, her naked body yearning forward, already wanting him. "Thoroughly."

She expects him to kiss at her neck, or slide a hand between her thighs. It's what he does. But tonight she is more than just his lover, his partner, his best friend and anchor...she is his proof of life, of love, of trust and desire.

He catches her wrists, and she smirks adorably as he binds her hands and runs the sash along the back of her shoulders so that she cannot lower them. Then he leans down so that his mouth is at her chest and he can catch one dusk colored nipple between his teeth, gently, and tease at it with his tongue until she is pushing forward against him, his nose bending against the upward slope of her breast.

He wills the smallest amount of cold to plume from between his parted lips, which pull into a smile as one knee lifts to run along the inside of his thigh.

"Now excuse me," he backs away as suddenly as he'd entered and makes his face as serious as he can. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

"What?" She scowls and then stares at her hopelessly erect nipple and with no way to continue what he started, although she makes a brief effort. "You _better_ be back in a few minutes. My tongue...isn't...long enough."

He chuckles, although Justice is annoyed that she's not taking this seriously.

_Let him see her at her most relaxed_, Anders is in the hallway and he makes certain that the servant's door is firmly closed and locked. _Let him see all the things he's missing._

* * *

><p><strong>Fenris<strong>

Fenris cannot make it to the door before he hears the lock engaging. He'd been too afraid to move after the mage had shown up.

_He would have killed me. _

_he steals a noisy kiss_

Maybe that would have been better.

Once he realizes his usual escape route has been blocked, he moves down the hallway, his markings glowing just enough to show him any other weaknesses or exits. There are two other doors, one to Leandra's old suite, and one to the staircase that runs along the back of the manor. Both are locked and too solid for him to breach.

_I'm going to kill _him_._

He stalks, as much as he _can_ stalk in a space that's not much wider than his own narrow shoulders, and is bent on just crashing through the door when he hears voices.

"You moved," the mage sounds displeased.

"My arms were getting stiff and, besides, all I had to do to escape was lift the sash over my head. This affords me far less freedom."

Despite himself, Fenris' lip curls in admiration.

"But it's not where I left you, is it?" His voice is warm with threat. "_Is_ it?"

"No.."

CRACK

It's flesh on flesh and Fenris scrambles to the gap, his hand over his mouth to prevent his suddenly ragged breathing from being overheard as he...

_What are you doing, exactly? You can't very well save her from _here_._

Instead, he can only watch as the mage strokes her reddened cheek with one finger that glows crystalline blue light.

_He slapped her_, Fenris cannot decide if it is shock or loathing that burns the most. He'd not been able to even tug at her _hair_ without receiving a cold glare and here she is now, eyes liquid with something sickeningly close to adoration as the monster magics away the pain that _he_ caused her.

She's also stretched up, her sash looped above her head on the same hook that holds her robe and Fenris hates himself for the shudder of desire that crashes through him, and the way the hardness that had been stolen by panic returns at the sight of the gentle curve of her hips and swell of her breasts on display.

_Stop watching._

The mage is away from her now, unfastening his jacket as he appraises her.

She writhes in response, her back arching and her thighs rubbing together in anticipation.

_Stop. Watching._

Fenris' fingers undo the laces of his trousers, the sharpened tips of his gauntlets scratching lightly against the lower part of his stomach as he goes. Like the sight of Hawke as obvious as a cat in heat for a man who does not deserve to _know_ her, let alone _be_ with her, the sensation is unpleasant yet arousing.

_Stop. _

The mage, clad only in his low-slung pants, approaches her slowly, his hands alive with electricity that crackles along his fingers in loops of light which race almost all the way up to his elbows.

_Bastard._

"First are the rules," he runs one finger from the hollow at the bottom of her throat all the way down to the top edge of her darkening panties. He smiles. Sharp...dangerous. She loves it. "_Sweetheart_."

Fenris presses his forehead against the upper edge of the gap and arranges his posture to accommodate his new position.

His legs will get stiff, but he does not care. From here, he has a better view.

* * *

><p><strong>Anders<strong>

He can't believe he _slapped_ her.

He can't believe that, after their eyes had met in widened surprise that _Anders_ could do _that_ to _her_, her expression had turned to one of animal need and then _love_ as he caressed her face to undo the sting caused by his own impulsiveness.

He's not afraid of hurting her….his hands are tingling beneath the lighting that he uses to tease her towards him. She's the strongest person he knows, has _ever_ known, and there is no _physical_ pain he can cause her that is greater than what she subjects herself to on a near daily basis. As long as she knows that he loves her and he _does_, even when he intensifies the spell to send a sharp zap to her nipple (which makes her moan and then _growl_ in approval) she'll accept whatever he proposes and _take_ whatever he gives her.

_Power._ He feels so out of control so much of the time. He feels so _dismissed_ so much of the time. Hawke, though, can hold him without confining him. Hawke listens and takes him seriously.

Hawke trusts him with her life and he would _never_ do anything to betray that trust to her, because he _can't_.

"I would rather die than see you _suffer_," he withdraws his hands. "Don't ever forget that."

She bites her lip in frustrated understanding and nods. _Get on with this_, her eyes beg him.

"Rule number one," he places three finger beneath her chin to tilt her face towards his. "Do whatever I tell you to do."

"No questions asked?" She pushes up on her toes to kiss him and very nearly manages to pull him out of character and into her.

"Rule number two," while his vision's blurring from desire, his voice still rings with authority. "There is only one word you're allowed to say."

She waits, suspense making her moist lips tremble.

"_Anders_."

"Anderrrs," she repeats in an enticing purr, the word languishing across her tongue.

"Rule number three," he grabs her hip and tugs her forward to rub against his cock, the erection barely concealed or restrained by his pants. "If you break either rule number one or rule number two, whatever I want to put in your mouth _goes_ in your mouth."

She moves against him, subtle but deliberate. Her eyes are hooded in acquiescence.

"And rule number four," his fingers slide down her stomach to dip beneath the band of her smallclothes, the silky fabric damp and warm against the back of his hand as he settles it between her thighs and just rests it there, relying on the heat between them and her own expectations to eke out a whispered _Anders_. "This is all over once _I_ get off, whether _you_ have or not."

Her eyebrow shoots up for that one.

"_And_ers," her voice conveys _you cannot be serious_ without her having to say it. She is spoiled by his attention to her desires, her needs, and it is attention that he is almost fanatical about giving _the one thing I can _truly_ offer_, but tonight…it's different.

"I have my own set of rules," he presses up with one finger, sliding it inside to his second knuckle and then crooking it back towards his palm. The flesh he touches is slippery hot and he feels her tightening beneath him. He leans in, his breath blowing strands of her messy dark hair away as he whispers so only she can hear, "As long as you _behave_, you have nothing to worry about."

She spasms around his finger and he pulls it away so that he can run his hands up her back, lightly, allowing them to glow with rejuvenation that he pours into arms he knows must be growing fatigued.

"Maker knows you'll need your strength for what _I_ have planned."

She shivers.

And he _swears_ that he hears the tell-tale sound of muffled panting when she does so.

* * *

><p><strong>Both<strong>

The mage kneels.

The elf grinds his teeth together.

Hawke moves her feet apart in anticipation.

The mage sits back on his heels, his hand finding her calf and he strokes up along the smooth and curving muscle, his fingers sparking with electricity as he brushes at the tender spot behind her knee.

"_Anders"_

It's quiet as breath.

The mage lowers his mouth to press his parted lips against the inside of her knee, his hand once again journeying upward, this time along the back of her thigh. The halting movement makes her strain down towards him, the sash holding her in place suddenly her worst enemy.

The elf remembers how she had dealt with frustration when they'd made love. He had the broken gauntlets and torn tunic still in a trunk at his mansion. At the time he'd told himself that it was _him_ she wanted so badly she was willing to destroy anything in her path to get it.

Now, as she glares up at the restraints and tilts her pelvis forward to lure the mage closer, he's starting to doubt even that.

Sensing an uprising in the shifting of Hawke's body, the mage takes his attention elsewhere, and is rewarded by an elated moan when he kisses the junction of her thigh and her groin, his eyes closed in consideration of where he is and what's he's doing.

Sensing a coming breach from mere teasing into something of profound intimacy, the elf tears his eyes away from her chest that's heaving in relief and longing to consider how far he's willing to let things go, _exactly_.

_Do you not feel better now that you're not watching?_

She yelps.

"Be careful, my love," the mage's voice sounds as if he's speaking with a mouthful of…

_Oh._

The elf's tongue tingles with a long-held memory- the taste of her wet for him, the taste of her _yielding_ to him. It was only a few, blissful, minutes that _he_ had _her_ in his control when always before, from the moment they'd met it seemed, he owed her, he was at her beck and her call and…_ooooh_, he aches from lack of attention, his cock longing for anyone's touch and he bites back self-loathing to remove his gauntlets.

_This is really what you want, Fenris?_

She gasps and then there is a soft thud followed by several low, needy grunts.

The elf returns to his post and all he can see is Hawke's backside.

That perfectly muscled back, criss-crossed by moon white scars- remnants of battles they have fought _together_.

That _ass_ that looked so solid but he knows can give so delightfully to his fingertips and palms.

Now it's above the mage's head, _his_ fingers sink into it from where he is now with his back to the wall and holding her out on display.

_He knows that I watch. _

Her ass is moving in a rhythm set by the mage below her. Fenris can see his chin in the gap between her thighs as he laps at her-

-inside of her. Anders tastes her and it is always so good but tonight it's sweeter somehow.

_She's mine_ as she rocks against his tongue.

_She's mine_ as he presses his fingers ever harder into the swell of her bottom, enjoying how she hisses with the pleasure and the pain of it.

_She's mine_ as she cries _Anders_ into the wall and stomps one foot, an uncontrollable response to a climax that is, judging by how wet she is and how forcibly she responds, very near.

_She's mine_ as he licks her once more, but this time with ice that spreads inside her for just a second and-

"_Fuck_ me-"

Pause.

"Anders?"

The mage pulls back and smiles.

The elf's hand draws its first stroke.

* * *

><p><strong>Anders<strong>

Anders slides up between Hawke and the wall, his hands catching the sash to lift it off of the hook and allowing it to drape behind him.

"I think you know where this is going," her mouth is close to his and it's a test of his will to not dip down to kiss her."Back it up, sweetheart."

She does, taking careful steps away, her hands entwined in the sash and pulling him after. It's a seductive role she plays now, her hips undulating, her breasts pushed upwards and her nipples taut and inviting him to _bite_.

"Stop."

She stops.

"Tell me that you love me."

She hesitates, confusion playing on her features. Then she smirks and, stretching her neck up, touches her mouth to the corner of his to begin a series of kisses along his jaw to his ear.

Her breath is loud, warm, and this close he can feel as much as hear her when she whispers his name, yearning woven into each syllable.

"_Anders_."

His stomach pulls tight as physical signs of lust overwhelm him-

the thrumming in his groin, the steady ache of his erection, the way every brush against his skin is electric

"Get on your knees," his command is rough. "And take me out."

Careful to not use her hands, she kneels before him and leans forward to untie the laces that have somehow not burst under the strain of his arousal.

She uses her teeth and it's like a teasing hand running between his thighs, feather light but resolute. He gives no verbal signs of excitement but, when she's finally loosened the laces and pulled the fabric away from him, there is no doubt what he's thinking.

His fingers curl into her hair which is currently at some level just past pure chaos.

"You're going to suck my cock until I tell you to stop," he pushes it towards her waiting mouth. "If I think you're holding back on purpose..."

Her tongue comes out to tease at the underside of him and she might as well be honed to a point for how precisely she hits _that_ particular button.

"I didn't say you could start yet," he gasps it out and then forces her head back with a yank of hair. "I'll finish like this if you don't behave."

She _ahhhhh's_ obediently, keeping her wicked smile even as he drives forward to fill it.

He sinks himself into her until he hears the little mewl that tells him she's close to choking, that subtle clench of response, but he doesn't withdraw immediately. Instead he stares into her eyes that hold him with an intensity she rarely shows in these intimate moments.

It's her way of saying that she trusts him to do whatever it is that he _needs_ to do.

He wishes he could grab the elf and make him see it as nakedly as it's there. For all the beast's hateful glares, and claims that Anders himself is a monster, Hawke had chosen _him_.

She could've had anyone in Kirkwall, _Thedas_, and where is she tonight? Who does she belong to?

She begins to work her tongue along the length of his shaft, and then leans her head back before she takes him in again, the way he likes it with just a perfect amount of teeth scraping as she adjusts to accommodate him almost to the point where her nose hits his lower abdomen.

Anders hears an exhalation that is neither his nor hers and he smirks.

"Hold still."

She freezes as commanded and the quickness with which she responds stirs Justice inside of him.

Anders somehow doubts that Justice fully understands what he's doing to her. He begins a repeated plunging into her warm mouth and she greets him with her supple tongue winding around on some thrusts and her soft lips tightening as he pulls out on others. All the spirit knows is that she is obeying him _them_ and that the elf is seeing her _allow_ herself to be used for nothing more than Anders' own end.

_Ours_ the voice winds down Anders' spine along with pleasure that is quickly overwhelming him in building waves of heat and sensation, so much that he forces himself to slow, to enjoy the soft sucking sounds as she continues to behave and, by the noises that vibrate along her throat, to be enjoying it.

"A promise is a promise," he shudders as she gives him up, the sight of his erection gleaming with her saliva is... "Stand up."

She holds his hips for balance, her lower lip dragging up along his bared stomach, chest, throat and chin. When she finally makes it to his mouth she meets with the full force of his want as he grabs her face.

He kisses her, forcing her to stumble backwards when he persists beyond the bounds of _right here_.

He kisses her, pinning her against the far wall of the washroom with his thigh shoved between her legs, parting her knees to grind against her cunt, to feel her on fire for him as surely as he burns for her.

He kisses her, aching with more than want or need because he wishes there was some way to break them both open to show the world-

_the elf_

-what it's like to be inside their skins when they're together.

"Amazing," he surfaces, running his thumb over her lips where he can see small indentations from his teeth.

Still panting, she smiles and rubs herself slowly along his raised leg with a gleam in her eye that says it as clearly as she had shouted it not ten minutes earlier:

_Fuck me, Anders._

And there's nothing he wants to do more.

* * *

><p><strong>Fenris<strong>

His hand is persistent, a living thing that owns him for the moment.

Even when pleasuring him, she'd been in control. Perhaps in the _most_ control.

_shoulders set, palms flat on his hips but readied to push back on his chest if he tried to sit up, or shove away his hands if they moved to touch her, she takes him in her mouth and it's something to be lost in, to become addicted to, to love_

He'd been helpless at the mercy of her lips, her teeth, her tongue. In the three years that followed, it had taken becoming the worst kind of creepy voyeur for him to get to a point where he could talk to her at all without his mind wondering back to the way that which brought forth such gems as "be on the lookout for a bunch of boneless women flopping through the streets" could also curl his toes and send him hurtling past a barrier he'd thought could never be crossed.

Sparks flicker behind his vision as he tries to extinguish the flames ignited at the sight of her on her knees, obeying that abomination and allowing him to treat her face like a...shame curls his fist tighter and a choked cry is loosed from his throat.

It hurts to see the way she gives herself to the mage, the way she scraped at his command, the way she held herself receptive to him.

But it's somehow cathartic to see her so stripped of control, to see her vulnerable from desire, to see her yielding to a lover's touch even if it's not his own. It's disheartening in a way that gives him some perspective on the night they had shared and it's opening his eyes to something he's refused to acknowledge since the day he'd met both Hawke _and_ the mage.

She was _never_ going to belong to him.

Not even if he had stayed.

He squeezes himself so hard he worries something might explode. His tattoos burn and he looks up, realizing that his focus had drifted when they'd went out of sight and now the mage is standing at the tub, his hands running through the bath abandoned when he'd arrived.

Hawke is behind him, untying her wrists and watching the water with great interest that she cannot express in more than a raised eyebrow.

"Get in," the mage is pulling off his trousers but Fenris only has eyes for Hawke when she tests the bath like he'd seen her do countless times before. Now, though, she's all unrealized tension and is not thrilled by what she finds when her fingers dip below the water's surface.

"It's cold," the mage smirks down at her. "But I think we can warm things back up in no time."

She scowls and her small show of defiance earns her a sharp smack on the ass, the sound a whip crack in the otherwise still of the room and, like her cheek before it, the mage's hand leaves a livid mark. This time, though, he offers nothing more than a rough pinch to get her moving again.

Because it's Hawke, she refuses to take her time, all but diving into the frigid water and sinking up to her neck only to see the mage gesturing her to move.

"I'm taking you, Hawke." Amber eyes cast their own spell over her and she pulls herself forward so that her upper half is propped on the far end of the tub, her bottom hoisted in the air.

Fenris focuses on that, so he doesn't even notice the mage join her.

From this angle, Fenris sees her sex, the reddening flesh goose-pimpled but inviting beneath sodden black curls, and the slope of her bottom where it meets her lower back. She has two small dimples on either side of her spine that each have a small glimmer of water settled in them.

He wants to lick them dry.

He runs his hand down his erection once...twice...

Then the mage's hands appear, two long fingers from nowhere that stroke up her thigh, to the exposed lips, where they begin to glow violet before he pushes them in deep.

Her hips roll in response, the muscles growing taut beneath her skin.

Fenris quietly spits on his hand and refines his grip.

Fenris moves silently against himself _inside her_ and hurt and pleasure intermingle into something new-

She whispers _Anders_ into her elbow.

Fenris leans his cheek against the edge of the gap, sweat beading on his forehead. The muscles in his forearm are growing tired from the tension in his hand and he just _wants_...

The mage abandons the fingers that he's been using to warm her and he's finally giving her what she's been yearning for from the beginning.

The mage slams himself into her and she responds with a push back...a growl.

Before he thrusts again, he teases her opening with the head of his cock, inching it partially in a few times before she begins to wriggle in anticipation.

"How does it feel to be driven mad?" He continues to taunt with shallow passes and flares of magic until she is white knuckled and quivering for him.

_Like a cat in heat._

The mage doesn't last much longer and soon he's driving into her with as much force as Fenris has ever seen one person take another and _he's_ trying to match the pace because, as far as he's concerned, this is the closest he will _ever_ get to control...

faster, faster, faster...she cries out, not a name but a wordless yawp that goes to the center of him...the everpresent ache of the past three years is changing over into something like...

"Oh!"

The mage's fingers trace lightning along her bottom and he has her hair tangled in his other hand while he shoves at her with his hips, water sloshing noisily between them and around their limbs in almost rhythm with their exertions. She's struggling to raise up on her arms and Fenris can see the underside of one bouncing breast, and imagines how the rigid nipple would give when pinched between his fingers, or caught between his teeth.

He moans.

_She_ moans and water splashes to the floor. She gulps for air and the mage does, too.

Fenris is _near_ and everything that has hurt him and shamed him until this point is beginning to snap open and then go slack. The thoughts _the memories_ that have held him back are giving one by one as he shudders closer-

"Say it, Hawke," it is a demand barked by something not quite human.

"ANDERS!" She's gripping the edge of the tub, her head back in ecstasy as he continues to ravish her, his hand sliding down from her hair and literal sparks crackling across her skin. Her motions becomes shorter, sharper, and Fenris matches them, imagining that it's not his hand wrapped around his shaft but her and _he's_ got her writhing and _he's_ got her begging in nonsense gasps and grunts as he takes her harder and faster and

It happens unexpectedly, release. It comes in a crashing wave from his stomach out to unspool, messily hot, along the back of his hand and he uses it to smooth the strokes that follow, each one blurring indistinct into something far calmer than he knew he could be.

Actually, it's less release than it is realization, but it's somehow better.

Beyond the gap in the panel, Anders is ordering Hawke to turn around.

Fenris closes his eyes and lets the sound of her shifting in the water, the low murmur of their voices, fade away.

He no longer cares about anything that happens in that room.

* * *

><p><strong>Anders<strong>

Anders helps her, although it's difficult. He's at the point of bursting out of his skin, and she is, too. He's afraid that one or both of them might come undone at the slightest provocation, but that doesn't stop her from pressing herself to him before he can settle back into a more comfortable position.

Her skin is somehow hot against his own.

"We're close, sweetheart," he catches both of her nipples and squeezes.

"I love you, Anders," her fingers dig in and drag across his back and he has to shut his eyes to keep from losing himself at that moment. They come around to slide up his chest, gliding above where his heart hammers against his ribs. When he can look again, her mouth quirks slightly. "Whatever you want to put in it."

It bursts inside him, the realization of what she's done and he laughs, a warm sound that becomes muffled when his lips press against hers.

"Come on, love," he leans back in the bath, pulling her down with him. She settles over his hips, her thighs snug around his waist and her arms free to search him. For a moment, he looks her over. Her bright eyes, her crooked grin, the sweet curve of her cheeks. He touches her face and Justice turns within him.

_Who belongs to who?_

She shifts and he's inside her.

She moves unhurriedly above him, urgency lost to a slower crescendo as she traces the sinewy planes of his torso and nips at his lips and nose, every rise up a relieved breath out, every slide back a ragged gasp.

He holds own palm against her cheek and the other warms itself to stroke at a tender spot between her legs, drawing gentle circles and guiding her, as if she needs it. As if the muscles that surround him, that envelope, grasp and stroke, don't know this road by heart. Soon her stomach pulls tight and her fingers are curling against his shoulders, her mouth caught on his until she's gasping out an orgasm that, only minutes before, she would have been screaming.

With this, he allows himself to think about the heat that's built up inside him, from his groin to his throat, that pounds in his head and behind his eyes. It's a towering thing that seems insignificant when she's this close and this honest and his thighs jerk first, followed by his abdomen and all she does is squeeze at him and he relaxes from his core, along his cock, in a rush that doubles back and expands pleasure along all the places that have been drawn tight while waiting for her.

"Mmmm," he groans against her lips and he feels her own curve up in acknowledgement of what must seem molten inside her. She continues to stir above him, slowing until he can no longer tell if it's her moving or an illusion given by the still lapping water. "I love you, too."

"Good," she pushes a fallen strand of hair from his eyes and he can see her own, full of sincerity and adoration. "I worry sometimes."

"Liar," he palms her breast, his fingers warming against her skin. "You know I'm yours, as much as I can be."

_I hope that it will always be enough._

"Mine," her hand covers his and she drags it to the center of her chest. "I can think of one person who might disagree."

Anders contemplates this. Before tonight, he could think of two.

_Now_, however...

* * *

><p><strong>Fenris<strong>

The lock disengages with a click and, after a few minutes of waiting, he lets himself out.

Silently, he moves through Hawke's estate and out into Hightown. Shadows hide him until he makes it to the steps that lead to Lowtown.

To the Hanged Man.

There's a woman there who owes him a couple of sovereigns. Tonight, the drinks are on him and he won't be alone.

* * *

><p><strong>Anders<strong>

She's snoring into his chest, her leg thrown possessively over his waist. He cannot join her in slumber, despite being exhausted from an evening that had only _really_ began once they'd found themselves entwined in a half empty bath.

_The elf _knows_ now._

This is Justice and it seems that's all that matters to him.

I_ know now._

This is Anders, and _that's_ all that matters to _him_.

* * *

><p><strong>Hawke<strong>

Hawke is alone when she wakes up, sunlight pooling on the sheets that are tangled around her naked legs.

Anders is at the clinic and she misses him already.

She goes into the washroom, mindful of the puddles that still remain, and leans across the bathtub to pull at a single warped panel of wood.

Her fingers search the gap and catch on something silken that she does not need to see to make her lips twist into a conflicted smile.

A scarlet sash, its ends distorted from where it has been tied for years around a fellow warrior's wrist.

He'd kept the ornamental shield.

He does not hold last night against her and will remain by her side to fight the battles _she_ chooses.

He is strong enough to _do_ that.

_He never _needed_ you._

She always knew, and she wishes he would have let her tell him that, but her attempts had been dismissed with "..._Hawke_" and she'd been too embarrassed to ever admit that she knew of his secret visits to her home in the night.

She touches the panel one last time and wonders if this is something Sandal could fix, or if fixing it was even needed now that she had been returned her favor.

_There's still another one out there, Hawke, but you don't want to know what Isabela's capable of when forced to get creative._

She leaves it for now and drops the sash with the one that had been used on her the night before- two metaphors spilled on a wet washroom floor.

* * *

><p><strong>Request: <strong>

I would really love to see a voyeur! Fenris who is eventually put into place by a possessive!Anders/Justice. :x

Here's what I have in mind: F!Hawke (class up to writer) found comfort in Ander's arms after being rejected by Fenris, who skedaddled after one night of intimacy with her. Any lingering feelings Hawke felt towards him eventually faded into honest friendship towards the elf, but the same is not true for Fenris. He never moved on, and he can't come to terms with the fact that Hawke found love in another's arms – his anger and frustration is doubled because it's Anders.

Fenris's continued desire for Hawke leads towards some rather stalker-ish behaviors, such as late night visits to her house to watch her in private moments, like when she bathes. How he sneaks in and where he hides is up to the writer. Also, if Fenris "indulges" himself during his watch is also up to the writer. ^^

Cue Anders interrupting Hawke's bath one night for some sexy loving time, only Justice is quick to pick up on Fenris's presence and decides that the elf needs to be put into his place and reminded that Hawke belongs to him and Anders. Hot, dominating sex ensues, and Hawke is claimed in every possible way by Anders/Justice. Detail would be very much appreciated. 3


End file.
